don't ask, don't tell. what happens when teenage girls play games
easily manipulated. Not from my point of view, but does it really
matter?

One time, at overnight camp...

It's
dark; we're playing the worst version of truth or dare. It's only
truths. I like to refer to it as
let's-ask-each-other-embarassing-questions-so-we-can-get-to-know-each-other
game but everyone always lies.

It's
the one time I tell the truth.

Because
no one else does, because I like watching them cringe and reply with,
"No way!" as they shrivel their noses in disgust. And
fascination.

Because
they ask more.

It
starts, as always, as an after-lights-out, I'm-bored kind of game.
We sit on the lower bunk and floor in the dormitory, door locked and
the weary light of a single cell phone illuminating eyes, both shy
and eager.

I
can't believe I'm doing this.

The
game starts innocently enough. Asking about weird sleeping habits and
the like, but I know it'll eventually turn to darker, stranger,
more taboo things. At least, once the feeble-hearted have been weeded
out and sent to bed.

I
wait and grin.

The
first question I'm asked is a true example of how much I don't
belong here.

"What's
the most embarrassing CD you own?"

I
snort and reply, "Would you consider country embarrassing? Or
classic rock?"

They
laugh, and I already know that I'm supposed to be some sort of
ashamed at my love of country. I shake my head and formulate a
question in my head. That's how it goes you see, you get asked, you
ask. There's a bit of order in this unpredictable world. The order
that I'm going to have a bit of fun tweaking.

I'm
so bad.

I
look around, direct my question to the boldest of the group, she's
cute, dark hair, pale skin, a kissable mouth and cheekbones you could
cut yourself with. If I was a guy…well. "Have you ever had dirty
thoughts about someone of the same sex? …A girl." I clarify.

The
room goes silent, excepting a few soft titters and everyone turns to
look at her face. She has an eyebrow raised and her lips are pressed
tight against each other. A faint blush rises on her cheeks, the
light is just right so I can see it. A normal person would think that
it's anger. But I know, just like how I knew who to ask the
question, that the emotion is actually embarrassment.

"Who
was it darlin'?" I drawl, reminding them of the southern twang of
country music, of a pick against a guitar string. "Your best
friend? A teacher?" I pause for a second before deciding that yes,
tonight I'm going to be an asshole. "Me?" I grin, lick my lips
at her and wiggle my eyebrows.

Her
eyebrows draw together and plunge towards her nose. I'm reminded of
that cliché of a diving bird of prey. "I never have, why
would you ask that question, you dyke! That's disgusting!"

I
grin wickedly and know that my bed is going to get a decidedly
pleasant visit later tonight.

I
still my features and gesture towards her. "Your turn."

"Same
question, whore." The petty insult makes me grin again, I knew
there was a reason I liked this game. The atmosphere is tense, the
faces turn towards me, and I feel as if I'm in a duel of words and
hormones. But tonight, no matter what I say, I'll win. I always win
this game. That's what I get for using my unfair advantages.

I
sprawl casually, roll my eyes as if it's the stupidest question to
have ever been asked, as if I hadn't asked it in the first place.
"I've kissed a few girls in my day." I run my tongue along my
teeth in a most lascivious manner. "Does that make you hot?"

There's
a physical shock that spreads as my words register. I mark and
remember the girls who draw back, who remain, who draw closer. The
air is suddenly both charged with a raw sexual heat and frozen with
prudish disgust. I've no need for either, but both can make this
game fun. This game is already fun.

"I'll
consider that your next question?" I have to admire her quick wit,
I've a feeling I'll bear the brunt of it time and time again, and
the idea warms me. I shrug and nod in reply, using those gestures to
state that that sounds like a reasonable conclusion to me.

"No.
It doesn't make me hot. My turn, are you a lesbian?"

I
laugh, loud and hard, from the belly. I throw my head back, roll,
brush fake tears from my eyes and pant. When I've finally caught my
breath I respond, " A lesbian? A few girls kissed and an awesome
rack do not a homosexual make." Hah. Poetry. I allow time for the
words to sink in and for the inevitable glances towards my chest. I
know people too well.

My
question, I do love this order thing. "What does your boyfriend
think about your pussy-loving ways?" Wait for it. I know she
doesn't have a boyfriend. She's a chick kisser all the way and
she doesn't know I know it. Oh gods, I'm too good.

"I
don't have a boyfriend, but since I have no pussy-loving ways, he
can't think anything of them."

The
faces have long gone silent, existing only to laugh or to draw away
and talk about how crazy the new girl is. This is between Miss
Ravenhead and me. And everyone knows it; still a few hangers on are
interested in where this will end up. Hell, I'm interested in where
this will end up.

"Fair
enough." I reply. I bite my lip and look towards the ceiling, then
lean over to my bag and grab my wallet. Leafing through it I pull out
a few green bills. "How much would I have to pay you to make me
kiss me," I ask. "I've got…maybe fifty bucks in here."

If
she was absolutely straight her face would show primal disgust,
especially if she was a churchgoer. But I know for a fact that she's
bi-experienced, or at least bi-curious. I can smell it.

I'm
rewarded with a wary look, not disgust, not quite. And in that
instance I know she's considering it. Is fifty dollars worth it?
She could always say she did it for the money. What she isn't
thinking is that I stole her question, that if she asked, I'd give
her a kiss for free. But she doesn't want to think that, doesn't
want the other girls to know about the thoughts in her head, doesn't
want to be seen asking. Her reputation is at stake, but only because
she chooses it to be. Don't tell her that though, I like reading
minds.

She
turns away, snaps shut her cell phone and turns to the faces. "I'm
sick of this shit. It's 3:45, let's go to bed. Careful though,
wouldn't want to get raped by the dyke."

I
smile in the dark. Life is good. I may have just ruined another
person's life in the name of equality. Hah. Equality my ass. A seed
of confusion grows between my ears, and I wonder, for not the first
time, why I do this. It's not the first time I've done this to
someone and it won't be the last. I fight the confusion, knowing
that I was given no purpose in life and so I make up my own as I go.
These girls, who after tomorrow I will never see again, who don't
even know my real name, believe I'm gay. That's okay, they aren't
the first. But they don't know my secret. I don't have a
sexuality, I'm just sexual.

I
laugh at the joke being played on the world.

I
lay down, pretend to sleep and wait for the inevitable poke in the
shoulder after everyone else has gone to sleep.

I
sit up, act groggy, pretend I don't know what's up.

Before
I can take a breath to ask who's waking me this time of night, a
darkling's cute mouth meets mine and we kiss, rather chaste but
with a promise of devilish things to come. I hold back a giggle as a
whisper meets my ear.

"Where's my fifty bucks?"

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.